


Safe Like Springtime

by sweeterthankarma



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Post-Season/Series 06, Pre-Rehab, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29640675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthankarma/pseuds/sweeterthankarma
Summary: It’s a little bit embarrassing for Lola, if she’s honest. There are a couple of thoughts fluttering around in her mind, desperate to be said, though she keeps her mouth shut, busies it with kissing Maya’s.One: she’s in love. Two: she doesn’t want to leave.
Relationships: Maya Etienne/Lola Lecomte
Comments: 12
Kudos: 23





	Safe Like Springtime

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song "Lucky Strike" by Troye Sivan.

Grass tickles Lola’s ankles, the stretch of skin between the hem of her jeans and her high rise socks that scrunch against her shins. With fabric the color of rosewood and patterned with little flowers that have lost their definition after too many cycles in the wash, Lola figures that even a stranger could likely tell that they don’t belong to her, but rather the girl beside her. 

Lola doesn’t ask, but  she knows she’s taking these socks with her when she goes, maybe even snagging a few other pairs from Maya’s drawers, the ones with cats or pizza or funny sayings scrawled with loose, stringy thread.  _ “Putain, c’est lundi,”  _ reads one pair that Lola’s seen Maya wear most frequently, always on the correct day of the week, and never without a chipper, unwavering smile on her face. Lola thinks Maya should give those socks to her indefinitely, or at least for the next few weeks as well, considering that her own wardrobe— almost exclusively solitary colors, primarily black— echoes the sentiment rather well. 

Besides, Lola just wants every piece of Maya that she can get, every bit that she can possibly hold onto. 

They’re not exactly dancing around the subject— where Lola’s going, why she’s going, how long it’s going to be— but they’re not really talking about it either. Lola doesn’t exactly want to either, hence why she brought the food— crepes, bread, salad drenched in vinegar, feta, and olives; Icelandic style yogurt, countless pre-packed containers of fruit, just to name a few. It’s all in hopes to  keep them busy, sated, though she knows they don’t need food to accomplish that.

Some bird squawks in the distance. Lola’s knees shift, twist up the picnic blanket, and Maya laughs beneath her, the sound shiny and silver and golden and actually just about every color Lola’s ever seen, ever known, mixing and blending into one. The dots of eyeliner beneath Maya’s lower lash line scrunch up against her top one when she goes on, keeps giggling, keeps looking at Lola like she’s lucky, like she’s happy. It’s hard for Lola to believe that she is. Even harder to believe that Maya is beautiful— so, so beautiful— and Maya is hers. Even if just for right now, just for this brief, fleeting moment. If that’s all that this is, all it’ll ever be, Lola will take it, no questions asked. 

But she feels safe, steady, like she can trust this. Like it isn’t going anywhere, like Maya isn’t running, or won’t be as soon as she gets the chance. Her hands skate up Lola’s back, tap against either side of her spine, each notch, all the way until she reaches the nape of Lola’s neck. Lola doesn’t need coaxing to bend down, to kiss her, again and again and again and again. She could tell Maya that, but she won’t. Won’t do anything to make them move, to get Maya to pull her hands away from her shoulders, to make her be in any position where she can’t be like this, holding her,  _ with  _ her. 

It’s a little bit embarrassing for Lola, if she’s honest. There are a couple of thoughts fluttering around in her mind, desperate to be said, though she keeps her mouth shut, busies it with kissing Maya’s. 

_ One: she’s in love. Two: she doesn’t want to leave. _

She sticks with silence. Maya is good for her, but Maya is  _ good, _ period, just as whole on her own as she is when she’s in Lola’s arms, splayed out beneath her looking like the purest picture of heaven Lola’s ever imagined. Lola, however, needs to be just as good on her own, and there’s one third, final statement that she knows, maybe even truer than the first two, no matter how much she’s going to drag her heels on the way out the door: _ she has to leave.  _

It’s what she needs right now. There’s no way around it. And honestly, it’s a good thing. It’s going to be a good thing. This time, she swears it’ll be different.

“You taste like strawberries,” Maya mumbles against Lola’s lips, nudging them back together in more of a languid movement than a purposeful kiss. Lola’s back burns hot from the sun, from Maya’s fingers playing with the straps of her shirt. 

“We ate a lot of strawberry things,” Lola supplies. A little movement of her elbow and she’s both shrugging the strap down more  _ and  _ nudging the non-alcoholic champagne beside them. It rolls off the fabric of the blanket and into the grass, onto its condensation-wet side. Maya turns her head to the side to look at it, as if wistfully, like it’s long gone and wouldn’t take another effortless, lackadaisical attempt to retrieve it. Then she’s peering back up at Lola again— unbothered, still beaming, flushed from Lola’s kisses and the July sun— and that’s as close as they’ll get to the topic. 

That’s okay with Lola. This is more than okay with her, finding solace and hope and renewal in the arms of the first person who’s ever truly loved her without any kind of force, any sort of mandate. Maya is pure, giddy and true, and Lola is sure she mirrors her expression, even if not her soul— at least not  quite yet anyways, though Lola’s really not expecting to come out of rehab with a heart that’s anywhere as close to gold as Maya’s. It’s therapy and routine and good influences, not magic. 

But Lola has no doubts that if she could see herself, more than just the limited reflection in Maya’s summer-drenched eyes, that she’d have difficulty recognizing herself. For once, she finally means that in a good way.

_ “Viens ici, chérie,” _ Maya says, and Lola’s sinking down again, fitting her legs between Maya’s and dropping her cheek against her chest. The softness of her t-shirt , decorated with cherries and a stitched-in saying in English, something about  _ féminisme,  _ sweeps against Lola’s kiss-stained lips, rhythmic with every rise and fall of Maya’s chest. 

“Let’s stay here all day,” Maya decides, sounding wistful and far away. Lola wonders how it’s taken her this long to propose that idea when she’s been thinking since the moment they arrived that maybe they should just say  _ “screw it” _ to the rest of the world, camp out here forever, find eternal blue sky in some vacant park far too wide and flourishing to sensibly be this empty.

“That was the plan,” Lola answers, sounding entirely committal and meaning it. She reaches up, finds loose fists of lilac hair, the back of her hand brushing against the shell of Maya’s right ear. Maya hums in content— maybe at the touch, maybe at the words, maybe just at Lola’s presence— and Lola does it right back, then sets on a mission to kiss every centimeter of Maya’s skin that she can reach. She does it for now, for the minute after that she hasn’t yet gotten to, and when that minute comes, she’ll do it for tonight, when Basile will make her his famous risotto again and Daphné will cry like she always does when these sorts of departures happen, even though this time it’ll be for different reasons than before. Lola kisses Maya for tomorrow when she’ll be too busy packing, for the evening when she’ll sleep alone in her bed for the last time for a while, and she kisses her for every day after that, every day until she comes home. 

Goodbye will be hard, but it won’t be for long. Lola swears she’ll be rebuilt, rejuvenated, better in no time. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, please let me know! Comments and kudos make my day. 
> 
> Come say hi and talk to me about the Skamverse at my Tumblr blog [here](https://sweeterthankarma.tumblr.com/) or at my Twitter account [here!](https://twitter.com/sweeterthnkarma) I adore Lola and Maya, so if there's anything else you'd like me to write for them, tell me about it and I'll see what I can do!


End file.
